


Oblivion

by Allstarsburnas01



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:54:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23361271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allstarsburnas01/pseuds/Allstarsburnas01
Summary: As the fall of the Jedi approaches, Agen Kolar discovers how close to the edge the Order truly is, and can't help but allow the darkness to overtake him.
Relationships: Kit Fisto/Eeth Koth/Agen Kolar
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

“Agen Kolar. We’ve been looking for you.”

Agen looks up from his book in surprise, the unexpected voice causing him to jump a bit.

Kit Fisto breaks out into one of his famous, booming laughs. “Sorry, my friend! Didn’t mean to startle you,” he chuckles as he leans against the doorway, “may we come in?”

Before Agen can ask who _we_ is, Kit saunters into his room, followed by the much sterner presence of Eeth Koth. Agen, only clad in his casual robes, curiously gets up from his bed to stand and greet the two masters. 

“Master Fisto. Master Koth,” He acknowledges them in his usual, sharp tone, “What is the reason for your visit?” He doesn’t bother to hide his confusion, he regularly leaves the door to his quarters open, but with the expectation that most of the Jedi know him well enough not to call on him without arranging it ahead of time. Clearly, it’s not an emergency; the council wouldn’t have been able to spare two Jedi masters -council members no less- had there been any kind of pressing danger. 

That, and the fact that the grin on Kit Fisto’s face is the one he wears when he’s up to something. 

“Agen,” Kit addresses him casually, and Agen does’t bother to hide his irritation, either. “You consider us friends, right?”

The question surprises him for a number of reasons. Firstly, he can’t bring himself to believe that Kit Fisto and Eeth Koth have interrupted his personal time, unannounced, to ask such a thing. Secondly, he isn’t sure he really considers _anyone_ to be his friend. The Jedi Order discourages any type of personal attachment, and he’s always thought of friendship as being in that category, although he knows that many Jedi do not. 

Sensing his confusion, Eeth Koth finally speaks: “It is all right, Master Kolar, if you do not.” Agen notices that Eeth is using his proper title, and feels grateful that the other Zabrack has acknowledged his earlier discomfort. 

“It is a rather difficult question to answer,” Agen finally replies, “I’m not entirely sure how it is pertinent.”

Kit chuckles again. “Let’s sit, shall we?” Without waiting for an answer, he plants himself firmly on the floor, leaning against the side of Agen’s bed. Eeth follows suit, and taps the ground next to him, gesturing for Agen to join. 

Agen complies, still perplexed and a bit irritated. 

“Agen-” Agen bristles again at Kit’s informal address, and Eeth seems to notice, shooting the Nautolan a warning look. “Master Kolar,” Kit corrects himself, grin still spread steadfastly across his face “Eeth and I, well, there’s no way to say this that isn’t awkward…we’re _interested_ in you.”

Agen notices a slight blush rise in Eeth Koth’s cheeks. 

“Interested?”

“As a partner.” Very casually, but quite pointedly, Kit slides his hand over Eeth’s. 

So the rumors are true, then. 

There were whispers about the temple, as there tended to be from time to time, that Kit and Eeth were physically (and perhaps even romantically) involved, at least to some extent. Agen had paid them no mind: they hardly affected his own duties as a Jedi, and seemed to have no basis in fact regardless. 

He doesn’t have time to conceal his shock. 

“Relax, Ag- er, Master Kolar.” Kit stumbles over the address as Eeth sends him the same look, again. “It’s very casual, nothing against the code.” He laughs again. 

As touched as he is that Kit acknowledges his own, particularly strict view of the Jedi Code, he is quite tempted to argue the Nautolan’s point. He fails to see how the two can keep this kind of relationship _without_ developing emotional attachment, at least to some extent, but he suspects the two of them are already aware of this and have chosen to take the risk. Considering their personalities, he is not surprised. 

Now that he thinks about it, the two of them have been particularly attentive towards him in the past few months: recommending books, showing up early to council meetings to offer him a morning caf, inviting him to romp around Coruscant with them in their off hours. His eyes widen slightly as he comes to a realization. 

“Have the two of you been… _courting_ me?”

“Well,” Eeth’s normally stoic face breaks into a slight smile while Kit’s laughter bubbles up again, “perhaps a bit.”

Agen shakes his head. It feels like too much to take in at once, and he still feels the need to lecture the pair on their irresponsibility and lack of dedication to the code. 

“If you need time to come up with a response, we understand,” Eeth says, clearly sensing Agen’s anxiety. 

“If you don’t mind.” Agen tries to temper the response, but it comes out as hoarse, strained. 

“Until later, then.” Eeth stands up, and Kit follows suit, flashing Agen another trademark grin before exiting the room. 

Agen doesn’t move for a long, long time.


	2. Chapter 2

Agen tells himself that he can just ignore the issue. In fact, he devotes himself to not thinking about it. 

The problem is that the issue is very, very hard to ignore. 

During battle, during practice, during strategy meetings, even during medication. Images of Kit and Eeth leak into his brain, unstoppable and somehow always unexpected. It’s _distracting_ , but that isn’t even the most worrying thing. 

The thing that scares him the most is that he’s actually _considering_ their offer. 

Before Kit and Eeth had explained that their actions had been flirtatious in nature, he’d really been enjoying himself with the pair, something he only realizes now that he thinks back on their outings together, their conversations over a caf before council meetings, the time they lured him away with the promise of late night meiloorun bowls only to try and convince him to visit a _particularly_ vulgar underworld night club. The other two Jedi have made it perfectly clear that, even if Agen decides against becoming a part of their affair, they want their newly-named friendship to remain intact. 

But, now that it’s been offered, Agen finds himself wanting something more than a friendship. 

It takes him months to decide, and Eeth and Kit don’t seem to mind at all. Their invitations and conversations are still offered with just as much frequency and enthusiasm, no pressure involved. It is the lack of pressure, Agen realizes, that convinces him of their genuine intent. It also happens to be the very thing that makes him decide. 

He’s never felt as nervous as he does walking into the caf the next morning. His stomach is knotted into a ball of anxiety, and nothing, from tea to meditation, has been able to soothe him. He knows he’s breaking the code, betraying the force. He can’t force the guilt away, but he can’t stop the wanting, either. He realizes that this is how so many Jedi have fallen from the light, a thought that does little to soothe him. 

As he approaches, Eeth Koth raises his head to acknowledge him, smiling slightly, and Agen is immediately made aware of the fact that they can sense his nerves. They know what he’s come here to do.

Eeth is being polite about it, he knows, giving him the encouragement he needs to say the words aloud. Thanks to Kit Fisto, however, he doesn’t need to. 

“Agen!” Kit greets him, tentacles rippling almost as if they are a living being apart from him. Agen suddenly remembers being taught, long ago, that Nautolan head-tails are sensitive to pheromones. 

_Wonderful_. 

“You’ve decided?” The question is delivered in a much softer voice than the initial greeting, and Agen is thankful for Kit’s small amount of tact, although he suspects it may have more to do with the look that Eeth shoot’s their way. 

“Yes.” He manages to choke out, throat suddenly dry as the full gravity of the decision comes crashing down onto him. 

Calmly, Eeth Koth stands up, walking quick towards the hallway in a way that suggests the other two should follow. Kit’s face looks as if might split from smiling. Agen wishes his hands would stop shaking. 

As they round the corner from the caf, Agen feels Kit reach out into the force, feeling for other presences nearby. As soon he confirms they are alone, his hand gently brushes against Agen’s. Agen lets out a gasp and stumbles backwards, the physical consequences of his decision not fully having registered in his mind. 

“ _Kit_.” Eeth turns around, clearly having sensed what Agen knows must have been an extreme projection of panic from his mind into the force. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Kit keeps his voice down this time, “I’m just excited is all.”

Eeth rolls his eyes in a way that suggests he’s heard this excuse far too many times before. “Sorry, Agen- we can call you Agen now, I assume?” His mouth ticks upwards, suppressing a grin. Agen nods, words still knocked out of him by the feeling of Kit Fisto’s skin against his. 


	3. Chapter 3

It takes a while for Agen to let either of them kiss him. 

Kit Fisto and Eeth Koth respect this, and Agen suspects they remember how it felt at the beginning, how long it took to shake off the guilt and lose themselves in another person for the first time in their lives. 

During the first month, he can’t even hold their hands. Even in the perfect safety of his own quarters, he is unable to fully face the idea that he’s broken the code, allowed himself to move further away from the light than he ever though he would. He dreams of himself with yellow eyes and a red saber. 

Then, slowly, the anxiety begins to fade. They teach him to compartmentalize: block them out of his mind when he’s in battle, forget about them when they’re gone. Focus on the joy that he feels when they’re together, the intense passion that must be put out the moment they are separated. Don’t fear losing them. Fear leads to the dark side. 

Eeth Koth’s hands are as rough and calloused as his own. Kit’s, interestingly enough, are smooth and soft. 

Kit and Eeth begin to kiss each other around him, when they sense he is comfortable enough. They never ask him to join. Agen assumes they are waiting for him to ask them himself. 

One day though, Eeth turns to him as they sit on the floor next to Agen’s bed, basking in the warm sun flowing in through open shutters. “Can I kiss you, Agen?” He asks. 

The question surprises him at first, but he realizes that not only is he no longer afraid, but that Eeth and Kit have gotten to know him so intimately that they can sense his fears, his anxiety, his desires. No being has ever known him like this. No other being ever will. 

“Yes.”

Eeth Koth’s lips brush against his, and everything is magnified: the ache of his back as he leans forwards, the way his heart is pounding hard enough to break his ribcage, the soft roughness of the carpet fibers as they push into his palm, the heat of the sun on the side of his body that faces the window. Then, just as suddenly, every sensation is overridden by the feeling of _being_ with them, of their love intertwining with his, bright orange and pulsing in the force. 

He falls back, overwhelmed. Eeth is smiling softly, and Kit Fisto is grinning his ever-present grin. This time, Agen knows he isn’t imagining it: Kit’s tentacles have risen around his head in excitement. 

“Calm down, Kit, it was just a kiss,” Eeth teases, tugging on one of the bright green tendrils. 

Kit laughs, but there is a definite dark green tinge to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. His eyes lock with Agen’s, and Agen feels his heart rate jump into overdrive again. 

“I’m next.”


	4. Chapter 4

Kit Fisto has two hours to sleep between disembarking the shuttle on Coruscant and the meeting of the Jedi Council, and he plans to use it doing anything but. 

“Oh thank force, it’s not raining.” Clone commander Monnk steps off the transport after Kit, removing his helmet and letting the warm wind brush through the little hair he has. “Don’t think I could take much more water, sir.”

Kit nods in agreement. Despite his heritage, the three day campaign on Mon Cala has left him feeling grateful for dry land. He’s sure whatever family he has would be quite disappointed in him, if they knew him. 

“Do you need an escort to the temple, sir?” Monnk asks. Kit shakes his head, smiling. 

“No thank you, Monkk. You may be dismissed.”

His commander nods, taking his leave with the other troopers now exiting the ship. Kit grins excitedly, looking towards the temple. 

_Eeth! Agen! Are you here?_ He shoots his signature through the force as if he’s yelling, unable to control his enthusiasm after months away. 

_Right here, Kit. No need to yell._

Eeth Koth’s hot pink annoyance travels through the force as strongly as it does in real life, tinged with tangerine affection. Kit can almost feel his wry smile.

_I am here as well._

Agen Kolar’s force signature also mimics its user, dark brown and formal, flickering with brightly colored emotions he can no longer suppress around his two lovers. 

They meet on one of the lower levels, not so low as to be abandoned at this time of night, but buried deep enough to mask their signatures among the thousands of bodies living in the planet’s core. 

Kit has removed his robes, his casual clothing blending perfectly into the Coruscant nightlife. He knows that the robes will be wrinkled after their two-hour stint in his pack, but he hopes that the time they spend stuffed into the bag won’t be long enough to crease them noticeably. Eeth has done the same, although Kit knows Eeth’s robes are folded, not balled up like his own, and that when he changes for the Council meeting, they’ll look freshly ironed. He suspects Agen’s are the same.

Eeth Koth fits in just as well as Kit, years of practice having paid off. Agen, on the other hand, is rather awkwardly dressed, and Kit tries to be forgiving.He knows that Agen doesn’t have quite as much experience as he and Eeth, who have snuck out of the temple quite regularly since their youngling days. 

The two Zabrak arrive at the same time, bright orange tension cracking between them in the force as they abstain from touching each other until they’ve rounded the corned into the alley where Kit is waiting for them

_“I’slari’n!”_ He calls out the Zabraki endearment, ignoring how tangled his accent makes the words, enveloping the two in a tight hug, his tentacles rising up as they sense the familiar pheromones. 

“I’d say the same to you, but I know how you Nautolans feel about speaking the language on dry land.” Eeth Koth’s mouth always tugs upwards right before he laughs. Kit loves this about him. Agen Kolar slides his hand into Kit’s, and Kit feels a rush of warmth. 

They find a ratty motel, and Eeth Koth procures a few unmarked credits to pay for the night. “Don’t ask,” he says, answering the unvoiced question on Kit and Agen’s faces. 

It has become a habit for the three of them to lay together on the ground, not the bed, and that habit persists even on the ancient, moth-eaten carpet of the underworld motel. 

(It is as if laying on the bed would make everything real: their guilt, their betrayal of the order)

The fact that they spend the majority of the two hours simply laying there, holding each other’s hands, is either a testament to their age or the extent that the war has worn them down. Still, Kit Fisto hardly finds it boring. In fact, after three days of fighting on Mon Cala, not to mention capture and subsequent electrocution at the hands of Riff Tamsen, Kit swears he’s in heaven. 

“You know Eeth, one of these days we should take Agen to a nightclub.”

“He has refused us, several times.”

“I’m right here, you know.”

Kit Fisto feels another laugh blossom in his chest, and he lets it out, the happiness curling into the ends of his tentacles. “We do know, and we’re very glad you are.” He plants a kiss on Agen’s cheek.

“Now, won’t you go clubbing with us?”

Agen Kolar rolls his eyes. “Aren’t we a bit old for that?”

Eeth chuckles. “He’s got a point, you know.”

Kit Fisto pouts at the two of them, arms crossed in performed disappointment. “When did the two of you get so old?”

They all know the answer to that, and the small silence that lingers ever-so-slightly too long after the question betrays them. They can’t talk about the war, about the order. Not here. 

“Ugh, never mind,” Kit fills the silence, his mood bouncing back to fill the empty quiet with light-hearted playfulness. He blows air into Eeth’s ear, jumping behind Agen before Eeth can react. 

“ _Kit Fisto!_ ” Eeth reaches for him, trying to enact his revenge, sandwiching Agen between the two of them. They’re all laughing again, Kit shrieking like a child, Agen laughing as they alternate between planting kisses on his cheeks and grabbing at each other, Eeth giggling madly between insults. 

Two hours pass much too quickly. 

At the council meeting, Kit Fisto stares blankly, his starry eyes full of nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

When Eeth Koth opens his eyes, he’s surprised to see Kit Fisto sitting at his bedside.

“Kit?” His voice is slurred and groggy, but his friend’s star-filled eyes light up and a grin spreads across his face. 

“Eeth!” His voice is booming and energetic as usual. “You’re finally awake!”

“I suppose I am,” Eeth replies, although his entire torso feels like he’s been hit by a speeder going past the limit. Kit laughs, and his happiness is contagious. Eeth feels a smile creep onto his face. 

“We were worried about you, you know.”

“We?”

As if on cue, Agen Kolar appears in the doorway, chest heaving, his usually well-kept long black hair tangled and spilling over his shoulders. “I heard you were awake,” he pants, “I came as fast as I could.”

Eeth raises his eyebrows, impressed by the two of them. He can’t imagine how the two Jedi masters managed to convince the council to allow them to visit the Ord Cestus medical station at the same time, and without reason at that. He shakes his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe the two of you.”

“What else did you expect from us? After what happened, we knew we had to be here.” Agen Kolar’s voice, usually so sharp and sonorous, has taken on the soft, almost musical tone that only those close to him are familiar with. 

Kit Fisto nods in agreement. “You’ve been through quite the ordeal, you know.”

“Trust me, I know,” Eeth replies. It’s not that he hasn’t been through worse, but he has a feeling that General Grievous’ torture chamber will most likely haunt him for the rest of his days. He pushes the memories aside, focusing on the beings in front of him. 

“Well, we can always help keep your mind off things…” Kit Fisto’s hand is playfully inching up his Eeth’s leg. 

“Kit _Fisto_ ,” Agen hisses reprimandingly, “let him rest, for kriff’s sake.”

“No, it’s all right Agen,” Eeth smiles, rather enjoying the warmth of Kit’s hand, “besides, Zabrack heal pretty quickly, you know that.”

Kit’s face breaks out into another contagious grin, and he turns to the younger Zabrack. “Want to give me a hand, Agen?”

Agen leans forward to kiss him, and Eeth Koth smiles, letting his eyes drift shut again. 


	6. Chapter 6

“You’re so _soft._ ”

“Stop that this instant.”

Kit Fisto ignores Agen Kolar’s request and continues running his hand through his lover’s hair. 

“Can I braid it?”

“I already told you, _no_.”

“Eeth, Agen doesn’t love me.”

Eeth Koth, entering the room with his arms full of filing boxes, rolls his eyes. “Kit, leave his hair alone. Force, sometimes you’re like a child.”

Kit laughs, finding the mental image of himself as a fully grown child particularly humorous. He does, however, give up on his attempts to braid Agen’s hair, standing up to help Eeth with the file boxes. 

“I do love you, you know.” Agen mutters softly. 

“And I love you.” Kit replies, just a sincere. He drops the box on the floor, perhaps a bit too roughly, because he feels Eeth’s annoyance spike through the force. He ignores it, and grins again, sitting back down on the floor to wrap his arms around Agen, who allows himself to relax into Kit’s chest. 

“Well, don’t the two of you look comfortable.” Eeth stacks his boxes on top of Kits and sits down to join them, one hand on Agen’s thigh and the other on one of Kit’s head tails. Kit feels the tentacle jerk slightly of its own accord in response to the physical contact, and blood rushes to his cheeks. 

“You know, Eeth, when you proposed a romantic night, I didn’t realize that meant digitizing the Temple’s paper records.” Agen comments dryly, humor recognizable only to Kit and Eeth because they’ve familiarized themselves so closely with his speech patterns over the course of the last year. 

“Hey, it took a lot of work to convince the librarians to give this task to three council members, especially at a time like this. You should be grateful.” Eeth speaks sarcastically, but Kit knows there’s truth to his words. It is a miracle, frankly, that they managed to find a way to spend an entire night together. 

“Well,” Kit replies, grinning, “is it alright if I show my gratitude with a gift?” He reaches into the sleeve of his robes, pulling out a bottle of Correlian whiskey. “This should make it a bit more fun, yes?”

Immediately, he feel’s Agen’s anxiety spike. “You can’t just bring that into the _temple_ ,” he hisses, ever the stickler for rules, even when laying in the lap of a fellow Jedi Master, playing with his head tails. 

“What, we can’t drink in the temple, but we can have sex on Ord Cestus medical station?”

“ _Kit._ ”

“What, Eeth? We _did._ ”

Eeth sighs, and Kit laughs triumphantly. Still, he doesn’t want to make Agen uncomfortable. 

“Do you want me to put it away?” Kit asks him. 

Agen thinks about it for a moment. “No,” he finally says, “you’re right. Why not?”

“Why not, indeed.” Kit laughs, unscrewing the bottle. 

Agen takes the first swig, and when Kit kisses him, he tastes of sweetness and nothing else.


	7. Chapter 7

Eeth Koth wakes up to a familiar hand shaking his shoulder. 

“What is it, Kit?”

When the Nautolan doesn’t reply, Eeth rolls over to face him and is surprised to find Kit standing over him with the saddest expression he’s ever seen on his friend’s usually-smiling face. It is however, an expression he’s used to seeing on his own.

“It’s Nadar again, isn’t it?”

Eeth understands better than anyone the effect that losing a padawan can have on a Jedi, especially given the Jedi’s ability to dream so lucidly. Kit seems to have had more and more visions of Nadar of late, and it’s clearly beginning to wear him down. Eeth knows it’s partly from the glitterstim: he’s never considered Kit to be an addict, but he seems to be using more and more as of late (although any Jedi with a hidden vice seems to be losing themselves in it these days). 

He sits up, making space for Kit next to him on the bed. Kit sits down and rests his tentacled head on Eeth’s shoulder. 

“Everything seemed so much simpler, back when we were young,” Kit whispers, “Remember?”

Eeth nods. When he'd been a young Jedi, everything had seemed so straightforward. No politics, no war, just the Jedi keeping the peace.* Now, it seems that everything is slowly falling apart. 

“I have an idea,” says Eeth, standing up suddenly. He walks over to his old record player, near obsolete now and covered in dust. He lifts the cover and pulls out a sound chip, pushing it into the player. Soft Zabraki jazz fills the room. Kit Fisto smiles. 

Eeth grins back, offering the Nautolan his hand. 

They sway back and forth, holding one another, each trying to forget everything in the embrace and the feeling of the other’s warmth. 

“Just like when we were young, huh?” Eeth whispers, and he feels Kit grin wider against his shoulder.

And it really seems as if the years are peeling away, as if Kit and Eeth are young and unburdened and ready to take on the world together. Kit can almost hear the distant music of the first club they ever snuck into, the muffled laughter of Quinlan and Luminara as the four of them lay together on the temple roof, he can almost taste Eeth’s lips; his first kiss.

They dance, loosely following the quiet rhythms, humming the parts they can remember, until the sun peeks through the crack in the closed curtains, invading the fantasy they’ve built up through the night. 

The sound chip slows and fades out and reality crashes down on them, but Kit and Eeth don’t let go of each other.


End file.
